


The Better Self

by wintergrey



Series: Marvel Snax [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Addiction, Addiction recovery, Apologies, Friendship, Gen, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1669487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergrey/pseuds/wintergrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...Tony didn't know he had.</p><p>Roane wanted a little fic in which Tony says he's sorry for saying that anything special about Steve came out of a bottle. I don't always write alcoholic!Tony but that's the Tony I remember from way back when Rhodey still had a 'fro and Beth Cabe was Tony's girl. So here you have it, updated a little for movie-verse.</p><p>For Roane because she's been my Sam about my writing this week. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Better Self

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/gifts).



For a guy who's notorious for being shameless, Tony feels like shit a lot of the time. Mostly, he has to admit, it's his own doing. Getting falling down drunk, being hungover, dealing with all the shit he did while he was drunk... drinking more because he can't deal—no one's doing that to him but himself. Or no one _was_ doing that to him but himself. And he's stopped—is trying to stop—doing it.

"Hi, my name is Tony Stark, and I'm an alcoholic. It's been six months since my last drink. About thirty seconds since I last thought about having one, though. So now I'm wondering if there's a Hangovers' Anonymous or something because that's kind of how I feel all the time lately."

"Are you doing your steps?" Keith asks after the meeting. He's a little guy, shorter than Tony, who looks like someone made him by folding crumpled brown paper, origami-style, into the shape of a man. He's got a nose for bullshit like only a recovering addict can have, too. Tony likes him, figures he was lucky to get Keith for a sponsor even though the guy is usually really annoying and relentless. At least Keith lacks the near-religious hyper-sincerity of some other people here.

"Yeah, yeah. I am." Tony stirs white sugar into his tarry-black coffee. He's put on five pounds since he quit drinking and wouldn't care except that he works with Captain-fucking-America and goddamned-Thor-the-actual-god.

"I don't mean ticking them off. I mean actually doing them." Keith's eyes narrow to amber lasers piercing to the back of Tony's skull. "It's not a checklist or an accounts book, Tony. It's something you have to feel. Anyone can do the steps. That doesn't mean they're getting better."

"That's... incredibly unhelpful, Keith." Tony presses his lips into a thin line to keep from pouting. "How is doing the things on the list not doing them?"

"You still feel like shit about some stuff?" Keith drinks the coffee without making a face, something Tony still hasn't mastered.

"Well, yes." Even the blue chip doesn't take away from that, so maybe Keith has a point.

"Why don't you think about why? This isn't just about taking a drink or not taking a drink." Keith taps Tony on the chest, just above the arc reactor. "It's about the kind of person you are and the way you live your life. You can't separate the booze out like it's got nothing to do with the rest of you. You took your first drink for a reason. And the second. And the third. And the last. If you don't fix those reasons that need fixing, Tony, that last drink won't be."

Okay. So the annoyingly-correct Keith did indeed have a point. A few points. The guy was practically a sea urchin, he had so many points.

A lot of the time Tony reached for a bottle it was because he couldn't stand himself. He drank like some monks beat themselves with whips. He drank like alcohol was a razor blade to cut out everything he couldn't stand about himself.

"My options for not being myself are kind of limited, Keith." Tony can't keep the snap out of his voice. Thinking about this shit hurts. More reason to drink.

"Your options for not being yourself, the person you don't like, are endless, Tony." Keith pats him on the shoulder. "Every time you speak or act, choose something new. And make amends for the old stuff. Not just checking boxes. I mean actually do it until you feel it."

"If I wanted woo-woo babble about the difference between doing something and _doing_ something, there's a Zen monastery, like, five miles from one of my smaller villas," Tony points out. "I could buy it and have an endless supply."

"Think of something you did or said that makes you feel shitty about yourself. I'm sure you've got a lot of options," Keith says bluntly. "Who you are isn't set in stone, Tony. You made a choice right then, a bad choice that made you feel like crap, probably because you hurt someone else. If you were a lousy person, you wouldn't feel bad about it. But you do. You think you can't fix it, but you can. I don't mean a time machine. I mean an apology. You have your apology hand-out. Look it over. Then go try apologizing to someone."

"Don't follow the checklist, but follow the checklist. Don't just do something, _do_ something." Tony tosses the half-empty cup of coffee in the trash. Basket. Victory is his. Or something. "Yeah, I'll get right on that."

"Call me if you need me." Keith doesn't sound even vaguely annoyed with him, which is annoying in and of itself.

  
Tony is determined not to call. Or drink. Or look at any of his stupid fucking hand-outs. Not even the one on top that says: regret, responsibility, remedy. He tells himself that training is more important. Training with Steve. Getting his ass kicked is preferable to self-appraisal.

Down in the gym in the Avengers HQ, Tony actually throws himself into the work, not least because hitting Steve is so damn satisfying even if it just bruises Tony's knuckles. The guy is so relentlessly good. Cheerful. Stolid. Encouraging.

"That was great," Steve says, without any sarcasm at all, after Tony manages to get one punch past Steve's blocks and barely brushes Steve's chin. "I told you practice would pay off. It's nice to see you putting the effort in today."

Putting the effort in. That's one way to frame trying to hit someone hard enough to hurt. Tony turns his back on Steve, scrubbing his towel over his face as he walks away. All his own failures and crimes press in on him hard when he's in Steve's presence. That hurts. He could never hit Steve hard enough to make up for it, not even with words, and those are his specialty.

"You okay?" Steve pads toward him but stops a respectful distance away.

"You ever get tired of being nice to me?" Tony flings himself down on a bench, lets the cold of the wall seep through his sweatshirt, and looks up at Steve. "Even when I'm a complete bastard?"

"Yeah," Steve says without hesitation. "I really do. Wouldn't change anything to do it differently, though. Wouldn't even make me feel better."

"How do you do that?" Tony is irrationally angry with him, and not just for being super tall and good looking and having what probably amounts to a two-four of abdominal perfection instead of just a six-pack. "What's your big secret to having an infinitely high tolerance for shitty people?"

"It probably came out of a bottle with the rest of the good stuff about me." There's no anger in Steve's voice but Tony cringes anyway.

Fuck. Tony puts his hands over his face like he can make the world disappear, then reaches for his water bottle and wishes there was more than water in there.

"I'm sorry," he says.

"Pardon?" Steve sounds startled, not sarcastic.

"I'm sorry." The words just fall out over one another. Tony wants to build that time machine, not to unsay the words but to punch past-Tony in the mouth for saying them. "It was a shitty thing to say and it's completely not true. I said it to make myself feel better or something and it didn't work—wouldn't have been worth it even if it did work." Every word feels like a brick coming off his chest and Tony isn't sure why but he could stand to do it again. And again.

"Oh." Steve runs a hand through his hair and leaves it standing up in several different directions. He still looks good, the bastard. "Thanks." He sits down next to Tony, elbows on his knees, and gives Tony a sideways glance. "I know it's not true but... sometimes I wonder, myself."

"You wonder?" That seems impossible. Tony's blue chip is between his fingers, turning over and over as he fiddles with it so he won't have to look at Steve while he speaks. "You were probably Captain America before you got the serum, it shows. You would be even if someone took all the fancy stuff away from you. I'm the one, though. Me. Everything special about me came out of my damn bank account."

"Hey. Who said you could talk like that about my friend?" Steve's gentle nudge still nearly rocks Tony to one side. "That's not true either."

"Friend?" Tony laughs at that so that the sharp bark of it echoes in the empty room. "We're friends?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty picky about my friends, Tony."

"Not from where I'm sitting."

"Sometimes you like someone for the good things you see in them. For the best of who they are. That doesn't always show up in the way they act all the time, but you have faith."

"So I'm in the same company as the crazy one-armed guy who tried to kill you." Tony can't muster up his usual sarcasm right now, the words feel flat. There's no thrill in saying them.

"Best company in the world. Or it was. Will be again." When Tony looks over at him, Steve's expression is calm and resolute.

"If anyone can pull it off, it's you." Tony doesn't even know why he's saying something like that, but he believes it. It's kind of an awkward, warm feeling, but it's better than how he usually feels. "And if there's anything me and my ridiculously huge bank account can do to help, just ask."

"I may not have a huge bank account, but if you ever need anything..." Steve points at the chip Tony's forgotten he's holding. "Six months. That's a hell of a start. You can do this thing, Tony."

"Thanks. I have a sponsor. His name is Keith. He's really fucking irritating."

"Why?" Steve's face crumples with concern.

"He's right. A lot." Tony doesn't want a drink right now. Just this second, he doesn't. He even feels a little bit good about himself, like maybe he's doing this right. It's nice. "Really fucking irritating."


End file.
